


Nothing Doing

by SuperImposed



Series: Kinkfills: Happy Smut Edition [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Death, Copulation Sheath, Kinkfill, M/M, Tavros Being Really Naiive, Violence, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/SuperImposed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<br/>Even back when he was all high in his pie, contrary to what one might expect, Gamzee is rough, almost violent in bed. He fucks hard and fast, claws and bites, talks dirty, and all that. Now an old lover of his meets him again while he's sobered up... and it turns out that this has turned him into the sweetest, kindest, most gentle and caring sex partner imaginable.</p><p>Elaborate."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ==> Gamzee: Bang Tavros senseless.

**Author's Note:**

> http://superfiller.livejournal.com/8083.html
> 
> http://homesmut.livejournal.com/5183.html?thread=3095615#t3095615
> 
> Didn't quiiiiiite deliver the prompt, but both OP and I like the result.

You see him again, not long after the first time. Now his pretty , untouched lance is doused in aqua blood, and a little bit of you is irked that he took part of the rainbow. The rest of you smiles.

He returns it at first, but then the expression falters, eyes wide and staringly drawn to your clubs, the clubs you’ve until now only used for play, spattered with most of the rest of your miraculous motherfucking rainbow. When his gaze tentatively raises back to yours, you smirk wider, stepping forward.

You both hear loud footsteps, and you turn, clubs swinging to half-hidden behind you. That motherfuckin purple blood hipster is trudging towards you, eyes unbalanced and science wand held tight at his side. His bespectacled stare falls on the clubs as you swing them forward casually.

“sup, my motherfucking VIOLET BLOODED BROTHER?” You see him wince as the louder Messiah makes himself known out of the blue, and smirk more. He tries to recover.

“So you’vve gone fuckin crazy too, Makara?” he asks, as if curious about the weather. If not for the white-knuckled grasp on the equally white wand you might even believe it. He looks at your Tavvy. “Him too, huh?” he nods at the bloodied lance, which Tavros drops in horror.

“I, I! I’m not like!” His eyes are bulging orange, that beautiful color edged with amber drops. “Wha-why would you say- what have you-?!” The bull stuttered into mortified silence as Eridan grinned at him, before looking back to you.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in sharin him, huh?” he chuckles, teeth showing as Tavros steps back, almost to the wall. The psychic’s gaze snaps back to you as you stomp over to him.

“KNEEL, MOTHERFUCKER.”

Metal knees slap the floor before he even seems to process the order. Once he does, he looks at you again, terrified, then tries to fall lower. You grab one of his horns, stopping him. “good lil MOTHERFUCKER KNOWS HIS motherfucking place, DOESN’T HE?” Tavros nods emphatically as possible, not looking at you.

You reach down and run a hand through his wire brush hair. He unconsciously leans into the touch, making your death’s head grin grow all the wider. “good boy. now…LICK.” His amber eyes widen in fear and confusion before you sway your hips forward; an expression almost like relief shows as he understands, darting out a gray tongue onto the front of your trousers.

You can hear Eridan step a little closer, hungrily, jealously, and then Tavros is getting the hang of things and you practically have to grip his horns to stay upright. That sweet tongue licks at you, rapid and erratic and heavenly, and your head falls a little back as you suppress a groan of satisfaction. You feel tentative claws hook onto the edge of you waistband and lay your hand lightly on his. “not just YET LITTLE BROTHER”

The royal is almost at your side, probably drooling at the sight. You pull your hips away, the strand of saliva connecting them to Tavvy’s lips almost making you fill a pail on the spot. You turn your devil’s smile on Eridan, and then pull Ahab’s Crosshairs out of your Jokerkind Abstratus. The look on his face is priceless.

“I DON’T SHARE, motherfucker!”

Tavros flinches away from the bright bloom of pale blue, covering his face with one hand. He holds the position until you crouch back in front of him, stroking his cheek. Amber eyes slot open, staring at you in horrified fascination.

Your lips claim his yet again, then pull back sharply. “it’s no fucking fair I HAD TO GO AND MOTHERFUCKING make you taste something so motherfucking bad, tavvy,” you purr, the rank flavor of yourself making your lips curl. You lean in and kiss his neck, still spattered with your paint from earlier, and his head falls compliantly back.

“AND HOW’S MY MOTHERFUCKING FAVORITE flushed brother after his first kill?” he shudders against you, and you smile. “first one’s THE MOTHERFUCKING hardest. probably.” He keens as your hands gently grip his arms, holding him in place as you nip at his neck, careful as before.

His whines turn throaty when you suddenly duck your hand into his crotch, unzipping the jeans and pulling them away before he can react. That hand starts rubbing his sweet bulge as you kiss and lap at his face, his neck, his temple. He opens his mouth to say something but you drown it by licking the very base of his horn.

Then he all but screams as you thrust your head down, engulfing him with one movement. His hands grip your hair and horns in way that’s painful but also fucking miraculous, and you chuckle around his flesh a moment. Then you start moving, up and down, and he almost wails, the sound husky and high at the same time.

“Guh-Gamzee,” he moans, when he’s got his breath back, trying to grip you a little more kindly. One of his hands untangles from your black hair and stroke the back of your neck, and you make a pleased hum that has the other hand nearly yanking your horn out. You don’t motherfucking mind.

You suck hard, careful of the razors occupying your mouth, and he makes another sweetly unintelligible sound, clutching at you as if for support. Then your pointed tongue flickers under his sheath, tasting your earlier release, and he can’t hold on any longer. He stutters your name, trying to warn you, and you just smile, swallowing against his flesh. Soon you swallow something else, his warm fluid nearly drowning you as you gulp.

Finally the tide ebbs, and you slowly pull off of him, looking at his flushed face. Tavros leans back heavily on splayed arms, panting hard. You can tell the bull wants to say something, ask you what the hell is going on, but a combination of nerves, relief, and satisfaction quickly lull him.

You fix his pants and gather him off the floor, hooking metal legs easily. Your smile as you walk to your shitty respiteblock.

When he wakes up, you’ll show your flushest of flushed pal the rainbow.


	2. ==> Gamzee: Be Past Tavros.

Gamzee: Be earlier Tavros.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, knuckles whitening around the hilt of you lance as your feet clang down the hall. This is it, you’re going to finally kill her, you’re going to kill Vriska-

And then you turn the corner and your heart stops at the sight of familiar shaggy hair and spotted pants and curving horns. Your thought processes shut down and you don’t even wonder why he’s standing here all alone, holding his clubs.

Your steps were far from silent but he doesn’t look around until you stutter – stutter, damn it, have to be more confident, can’t kill her without confidence – his name out. Then he turns, smooth smile on his face, and something is subtly wrong but you can’t figure it out because of your shyness, eyes dragging to the ground.

Mentally you curse yourself for being so weak, lacking even the confidence to look your best bro in the face. He shuffles a little closer, and you hear him ask what’s up – there’s that wrong thing again, his voice doesn’t sound quite right – and you realize you’re still holding the lance, as if you needed to defend yourself against _Gamzee_. You mentally laugh and captchalogue the weapon.

A warm hand clasps your shoulder and you jump, not realizing he’d gotten quite that close. You flick your eyes up again, seeing that sweet _it’s wrong, there’s something wrong_ smile on his face. You try to grin in kind. “I, uhhhhh, I’m going to, uhhhhh, go stop Vriska,” you mumble, berating yourself for stumbling over your words. He just chuckles _wrongly, so wrongly_ and pats the joint under his hand.

“you could motherfucking end UP DEAD, LITTLE bro,” he murmurs.

“I, uhhh, I know,” you say, and suddenly there _is_ confidence, or at least the desire to not feel regret. “Before, uhhh, before I go. Ummmm. I just. Uhhhhh. I wanted to say, uhhhh, I’ve been, uhhh” your voice trails off until even you can barely hear it. “I’ve been a little pink for you.”

There’s silence for a moment, and your insides turn to lead. Then he chuckles, softly, and his thin lips pull apart to ask, “just a little MOTHERFUCKING PINK?”

You can’t stop yourself. “No, uhhhh, maybe, uhh, a little…a lot darker…..” your head drops to your chest, and you squeak out one last word. “Red.”

Slender fingers twitch under your chin and he’s pulling your head up, and smiling, and it seems a lot more genuine, and then his lips are soft and warm and wet on your own, and you’re lost.

He pulls away after a moment and kisses his way up your face, leaving warm greasepaint as he goes. His breath on your ear and horn makes your new legs weaken at the knees, only the wall keeping you vertical. Then he’s whispering to you, and only his sudden hand under your arm keeps you upright:

“Tavvy…you’re the most motherfucking pitiable troll I ever fucking met.”

You turn liquid eyes up to his face, and the sweetest, most focused smile you’ve ever seen graces those lips as he looks back at you. “so, yeah”, he adds, “I GUESS YOU COULD say i’m motherfucking red for YOU TOO.”

Then he’s kissing you again, lips and occasional tongue painting paths up and down your cheeks and neck. You lean back against the wall, almost sliding down it, as he ministers to every part of your body above the collar, save for your horns, which he skitters around teasingly. You feel an odd sensation and realize he’s nipping you, teeth catching so lightly on the skin it doesn’t even hurt.

You moan throatily as Gamzee’s lips brush your ear, and you grab at him, wanting something more but not sure how to ask it.

He chuckles, rumbling against your flesh, and one hand starts rubbing and then straying down your front. He pauses at the last, and you can’t nod without braining him but you do your best to make an affirmative sound. It seems to work because next thing you know that _hand_ is dipping below your waistband.

You’re certain you whine when he finds your bulge, flush running down to your neck. He kisses the bright brown spots, obscuring them with paint and a little saliva. His teeth delicately graze your jaw _oh gog I never knew he had that kind of control_ as his fingers rub gently around your bulge, going to free it from its confines.

You gasp as your hardening arousal is exposed to the air, warm hand still running languorously up and down it. You can feel his smile on you as his other hand pushes your pants down to puddle on the floor. He kisses next to your horn, _almost right on it_ , and you keen softly. “G-Gamzee,” you gasp, looping your hand around his shoulders and urging him closer.

“what can i do for MY BEST MOTHERFUCKING MATESPRIT?” he asks, whispering then projecting loudly, right next to your ear. You wince slightly but then his hand on you distracts you again.

“P-please…” you moan as he licks the end of your jaw. “Please…” kisses your neck “m-my horns,” kiss “please…” lick, pause. You can feel his warm, enticing breath on your face as he holds still. The he kisses you on the lips again.

“just had to MOTHERFUCKING ASK.” Then you feel something on the outer curve of your horn and you shudder violently, his hand the only thing keeping you from falling down. A sharp, high sound escapes you as he mouths the tip, and you cry out when his lips close around the column. You can’t even make a sound when he runs his mouth suddenly down your horn, from tip to base in an instant.

You can’t fully remember what happens for the next few minutes, except for a purely _wonderful_ sensation over your entire body as Gamzee does his work.

At some point you ended up on the floor – probably melted there in a puddle of goo – and Gamzee’s hand at your crotch is getting more enthusiastic. He purrs next to your ear, asking, about what you want.

“MAYBE MY FAVORITE fucking flush brother wants TO BE MOTHERFUCKING FILLED?” His pitch drops just a touch lower. “or maybe HE WANTS TO MOTHERFUCKING be the one to fill?”

A thrill of arousal arches down your spine as Gamzee all but invites you to dominate him. You carefully shake your head, though, words rising to your lips. “I, uhhh” you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks. “I want to feel you fill me,” you whisper, stutter gone for one glorious moment. “From behind,” you add, and shiver when he kisses your cheek.

“then that’s how I’M GONNA FUCKING DO IT.” Gamzee’s free hand wanders over your blissful form, as the other starts gently probing your sheath. A gasp catches in your throat as the slimmest of his fingers carefully finds its way inside.

You moan, sounding wanton in your own ears, as your new matesprit plunges more and more fingers into your depths, tenderly and deliciously stretching you out for him. He kisses the back of your neck as he slide behind you, and for a moment you regret not trying to touch him, but then his hard bulge is rocking against you and your brain shuts down.

At some point or other his pants were rolled down to his ankles, and then the clown is scooping under your thighs and carefully drawing you into his lap. He settles you down, bulges rubbing flush, the nubs of his bone tantalizing against your skin. His breath is on your ear again. “IS THIS motherfucking copacetic?”

You nod as best you can and he moans a little when you reach down and gently run a finger over him. Slick fluid is seeping from your copulation sheath, dripping down your matesprit’s bulge. Gamzee wraps an arm around your waist, nose buried in the back of your still-clothed shoulder, and then he’s inside you.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt; the ribbed underside of him rubbing delightfully against the outer part of the sheath is nothing in comparison to what his nubs are doing to your bulge. He’s holding still for a moment, and you realize he’s waiting for direction from you, proof that you’re not in pain. He prepared you generously, however, and, as soon as you can scramble metal legs underneath you, you thrust experimentally.

Gamzee moans and wraps both arms snugly around your waist, body pressed against yours even as he leans up and licks at your long horns. You gasp, warmth suffusing you as he tries to give every part of your body attention. You never thought red would be so _good_.

Gamzee gently starts to thrust in time with, making you gasp and pant as his bulge slicks in and out of your sheath. You manage to reach back and half-grab him, getting his attention. “I…want” you pant breathlessly, “inside, please,” you manage, flushing with the shamelessness of the request.

Gamzee pauses the barest moment, hot breath on your neck, before speeding up, not quite fast enough to be painful but incredibly intense. You moan, falling back against him, and grind your hips down, signaling him to cut the pace. He takes heed and the rhythm returns to sweetly languorous. “Thanks,” you murmur, amazed you have the breath to speak. He purrs against your neck, kissing your mohawk stubble.

You hear his breath become even heavier, rasping melodically in your ear, and suddenly he goes rigid against your back, hips giving a few last pumps before wet, wild heat fills you.

You cry out and toss back you head, catching your horns against his. The feeling is like nothing you’ve ever experienced, and your mind goes blissfully blank, ignoring even the painful tightness of your own bulge.

He doesn’t forget, however, reaching around you to stroke your flesh, still inside of you. You moan, unable to think, to do more than thrust pliantly into his waiting hand. His fingers flicker over your aching bulge and soon you give a sharp sound, trying to warn him- Gamzee covers the tip with his palm, thick fluid spattering against it. You want to apologize but you have neither breath nor energy for it – instead you fall back into him, panting hard.

After a few minutes of cuddling in the afterglow, you eventually remember your task, getting to metal knees that shouldn’t be able to shake like that in response to your exhaustion. You zip your pants and try to offer some meek apology for the mess, which your matesprit – _matesprit!_ – waves off cheerfully.

You ask him where he’s headed, as he gets ready himself. That ever-so-slightly-wrong smile spreads his lips thin.

“just gonna give a motherfucking MESSAGE TO MY BEST friend,” he says, grinning at you. “BEST OF MOTHERFUCKING LUCK with serket.” He turns to go, waving one last time.

You heft the lance and head down your own path, determined to find Vriska. You hope Gamzee will be okay.

You couldn’t bear it if he got hurt by that murderous psychopath.


End file.
